


Tethered

by theclockiscomplete



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, series pickmeup, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclockiscomplete/pseuds/theclockiscomplete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve helps Clara put up the Christmas tree. And by "help" I mean, of course, "is a general endearing nuisance who pretends he is not in the face of mounting evidence."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tethered

**Author's Note:**

> Moar fluff. I will singlehandedly write a blanket of lightheartedness over the fandom as we brace ourselves for what's coming. *pats multiple heads, prepares lots and lots of tea*

 

 

“You know, if we hop in the TARDIS, I’m sure I can scrounge up a wire-detangler or something. A hatchet, if not. I’m almost certain I saw a hatchet the other day.”

Clara paused rifling through the box of tree at her feet and peered at the tangle of lights and Timelord currently sprawled in her living area. She grinned and shrugged. “Hop all you like.”

“Ha ha,” he said, and tried to wave an arm that was currently roped to his ankle. “I thought turning these on would make it easier to see what I was doing.”

Clara pursed her lips. “Mmm, nope. But it’s making it easier to see what I’m doing, so carry on.”

He gave up and collapsed back on the floor, wincing and shifting tiny bulbs out of the small of his back. He watched Clara as she hummed along with the music coming from the kitchen, pulling the different parts of the tree from the box and slotting them together to assemble what looked to the untrained eye like a prickly telephone pole. It was quite a big tree- hence all of the lights it took to cover it—and she had to mount a stepladder to slide the bottom of the topmost section in its slot. There was some flour in her hair, and the jumper she wore was a size too big and draped off the ends of her hands with the sleeves rolled down. She was barefoot and in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and—

“Good thing I’m not wearing a skirt.” She was looking down at him from the top of the stepladder and he grinned and looked away.

“Me either,” he said, and it earned him a laugh as she set to work fluffing the branches out in preparation for ornaments and tinsel. He rolled carefully to a sitting position and peeled a wayward strand of lights from around his ear, frowning. “Why are my shoes off again?”

Clara didn’t even spare him a glance from behind the tree this time. “It’s what people do when they’re somewhere they can be comfortable.”

“Ah. Well.” The Doctor wiggled his toes in the mismatched animal socks. “I can assure you that in this moment and this position, I am very much not—”

“Shoes aren’t going to fix that, Doctor.”

“How would you know? You’re not wearing any either.” She was about halfway done with the tree and when she tugged on a particularly tight piece of limb, the Doctor was delighted to see her tongue poking out just a bit. “Hold this,” he said, proffering an end of the lights.

She glanced at him. “No,” she said, and then resumed fluffing the tree, smiling slightly.

“Oh come on, why not?”

“Because I know you,” she said, dropping her hands. She picked her way through the small pool of lights surrounding him to stand with her face inches from his. “I know you and I know that you have worked out a plan to unravel yourself in less than five seconds once I do, and—” she held up a finger to shush the protest forming on his lips. “And also knowing you, your plan will backfire and we will both wind up stuck to each other with fairy lights.” She ruffled his silver curls and turned her attention back to the tree.

“Three,” he mumbled, “and I can think of worse things. Andalusian mating rituals come to mind.” He returned the grin she threw over her shoulder and wound the end of the lights around a leg of a leg of the couch. He gave a tug, contorted his body into a couple of complicated shapes, and emerged from the wreckage holding the entire lot in a loop as thick as his thigh. “Two seconds,” he declared, and wiggled his eyebrows. Clara rolled her eyes and patted down the last few bushy spines on the tree.

 

“Go on,” she said, gesturing grandly. “Hard part’s over. Light it up, Doctor.”

He eyed the tree nervously and licked his lips. “Erm,” he said.

“You can borrow the stepladder if you need to.” There was barely suppressed laughter in her voice.

He glared at her. “I will not.” She shrugged and dug a few ornaments out of the box, dangling them from her fingers and watching the lights play off of them before turning the corner back into the living room. The Doctor had successfully lit the entire tree in the two minutes she’d been gone, and she stood in the doorway, blinking rapidly and trying to parse how he’d done it while he leaned against the wall and leered at her. It only took a moment’s observation.

“You cheated.” She brushed past him and mounted the stepladder to place the first of the ornaments on the treetop.

“And what makes you say that?” his voice was all offense and bluster.

Clara looked him over and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you’re that happy to see me,” she said.

“I’m always happy to see you. What are you—oh.” She raised her eyebrows, smiled. “That’s that thing you explained to me before. With the…right. Uhm…” his hands flailed for a moment, removed his sonic glasses from his pocket, put them on his face. “Right,” he repeated. Clara placed the last of her ornaments on the tree and then leaned over to pluck them gently off of his face. Standing like this, she was only a couple of inches taller than him, and she looked down into his eyes.

“I didn’t know you blushed.”

He muttered something about “better than you can”and stared hard at the floor until Clara took his face in her hands and turned it up to look at her again.

"Look at you and your big old face," she whispered. Her lips were light against his, and the Doctor took a moment to take in the room with its soft lights and it's softer music, and the softest of skin beneath the pads of the fingers running themselves over her jaw and neck. Then he let himself drown in taste and sound and feeling, breathing her scent of coconut and gingerbread. When her tongue brushed his, it was tea and warmth and earth. Yes, he thought when her hands tugged gently on his silver curls, Earth. From a distance, it was easy to lose track of all its funny little traditions and species and quirks. Being here, belonging to Clara...it narrowed his scope and broadened hers. Whether it was good or bad for either of them didn't matter as long as he could be here, holding her. Being held by her. The rest of the universe could pass them by as long as they were tethered to one another.

The tree had the decency to stay upright for about five minutes. 


End file.
